


Earth Stood Hard as Iron

by Amberdreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberdreams/pseuds/Amberdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime towards the end of 2010, post apocalypse.  Sam and Dean have been picking up the pieces of their old hunting lives, dealing with the fall out from Armageddon (as you do).   Some months have passed since it was all over (and whatever happened has left its scars).  A case of hypothermia in an unseasonably warm Michigan might be the distraction they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth Stood Hard as Iron

********  
Chapter 1  
********

Dean kicked the motel room door open with his foot, his arms full of steaming take-out bags. A gust of cold November night air followed him as Sam hurriedly cleared his laptop off the room’s rickety table so his brother could deposit their evening repast on its scratched surface.  
“Ok, so what did Bobby have for us?” Dean demanded as he plonked himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, stretching out his long legs and rummaging in the bags for his mega cholesterol loaded burger and double strength expresso. Sam sighed.

“Dean, we just finished one job, can’t we just have a couple of days breathing space before rushing off to the next one?”

“Breathing space? Doin’ what exactly Sammy?”

“Oh I don’t know, Dean. Just not fighting anything for a change…You know, we could just hang somewhere, play some pool maybe; do something normal, ordinary.”

Silence. Dean stared at nothing, the green glints in his hazel eyes looking suddenly old and cold. Sam shivered slightly at the sight.  
Ordinary. Right. Because we Winchesters are just so good at ordinary aren’t we. What am I thinking?

Sam let his gaze slide away from his brother's set face and reached for his food. Then he heard Dean echo his own earlier sigh. 

“Look Sammy, I know the apocalypse is over, but there is still plenty of evil out there, and if we take a break, people die. They die and I can’t live with that. If you want to opt out for a while, that’s fine with me, really it is. Go check in with Bobby for a bit or something; go to Stanford and visit some of your old college buddies - but I can’t stop. I just can’t.”

Sam looked up at this, took in the weary slump of Dean’s shoulders, noted again the pallor of his brother’s skin and the dark shadows under his eyes, and knew that he too must look just as rough. The brothers had been working to Dean’s hectically driven schedule for over three solid months, ever since Lucifer was defeated and the angels had left. It seemed that stopping the apocalypse had brought no rewards for the Winchester brothers, only more work. 

What had happened to the promise of rest when we were done? Sam wondered, bitterly. 

All the demons let loose when Lucifer raised his army were still around, and the evil ragtag that rode on the shitty tails of that army were still on Earth, raging unchecked like some sort of mediaeval plague. The surviving hunters were busier than ever, dealing with random poltergeists, angry spirits and all manner of monsters, and even though Death and the other Horsemen were no longer roaming the Earth, the aftermath of their deeds in those few short months that they had been around still lived on. So now the Winchesters were headed pell-mell towards another not so merry Christmas season and the death of another year. Which was great, just great.

“Look man, you know I don’t want to take off and go to Bobby’s. I wouldn’t leave you alone like that. Just forget it.” Sam took a bite of his nondescript salad-y something (he didn’t have the energy to look too closely to check what it was supposed to be) and pulled open his laptop again, balancing it precariously on his not inconsiderably muscular thighs. “Ok, this is what we’ve got – some’s from Bobby and the rest is from some research I did.”

He went through the highlighted list, Dean grunting occasional comments through large mouthfuls of anonymous-animal burger. Part way down the list and still nothing was floating Dean’s boat, blowing up his skirt, whatever.

“Possible poltergeist in Queens, ganked two victims so far, a 45 year old accountant and his 21 year old mistress.”  
Dean shook his head, waving the remains of the burger in emphasis. “Nah on two counts – one - cities, dude – and two - it was probably his pissed off wife.” Sam nodded agreement, moved on.

“How about this one. Copper Harbor, Michigan. Three hikers gone missing since the beginning of November, all in the same stretch of forest, all turned up dead of hypothermia even though the snow season has been late starting this year, probably due to Al Gore’s climate change.” Sam saw he’d finally snagged Dean’s attention, and smiled inwardly.

“Hikers and hypothermia?” His big brother was frowning, considering, weighing it up. “No camping, right though, Sammy?”

“Nope, plenty of nice comfortable motels in the area. No tents in the wilderness required. Oh and get this. Just a few miles south of Copper Harbor is a ghost town called Delaware. Old mining town abandoned in the early 1900s.”

Sam almost laughed out loud as Dean’s face lit up. “Ghost town eh? Neat!”

“Yeah, good times…” Sam smiled at the rare glimpse of a younger, less careworn Dean.

******

Dean had known Sam was right, even as he was telling the younger Winchester no. They did both need a rest; a real holiday from the day to day grind of fighting evil, but he had also been almost painfully honest with Sam when he’d said he couldn’t stop.

After all, if Dean Winchester were to stop fighting, cease hunting, just who would he be? What would be the purpose of Dean Winchester’s continued existence then? He wasn’t stupid; he recognised the problem facing him was the same as faced every soldier returning home after a long, hard fought, ugly war. He and Sam had seen things, done things, that no civilian could even imagine. And it left scars. It was easier to carry on, to stay in the jungle, fighting skirmishes even though the war was over. For him, there really was no choice. He had never known any other life. The vague happy memories of a four year old didn’t hold much weight when balanced against twenty seven odd years of hunting.

If he was to stop now, allowing innocent people to die, what would have been the point of putting Lucifer back in his box? What use would it have been to have fought demons and angels alike, to have lost all those friends (God, how he missed that crazy stick-up-the-ass Cas…where was he now?), only to allow all those evil sons of bitches still out there a free rein to have a pop at all those vulnerable, ignorant civilians? 

No, for him retiring wasn’t an option, but his kid brother, now that was different. Dean thought that Sam might have a chance of picking up some threads of normality, having left this life once before and made a success of being an extraordinary person living an ordinary life, at least until Dean had come along and fucked it up for him by dragging him back into this warped existence. Kid brother. Dean looked at Sam’s broad shoulders and shaggy hair as he hunched his great bulk uncomfortably over the laptop and thought, Who am I kidding? He’s a grown man now, I can’t protect him any more. But he looks so tired, so worn down by everything.

So Dean made the offer of a way out, even though deep down he was more than half hoping Sam would refuse. In spite of everything, or perhaps because of everything, they still made one hell of a team, and Dean had never really enjoyed working alone. When Sam turned him down, he felt a great sense of guilty relief, but as his brother started to run through the details of the possible jobs, Dean’s attention was still divided, half his mind processing the narrative Sam was dealing out, half appraising the kid’s face. Maybe he should insist on Sam taking that break. He could clearly see the toll the last couple of years of struggle had taken out of the younger man. It was written in the new lines around his mouth, the sterner set to his brows, the harsher light in those warm hazel eyes that now mirrored his own gaze that had seen the pits of Hell in a way that made Dean uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and not a little sad.

It was this distraction that meant he was overly quick to jump on the possibility of some fun in a ghost town, and allowed his attention to be focussed away from the one fact in the case that should have been ringing a whole clarion of warning bells, telling him to stay away from Copper Harbor.

Cases of hypothermia, in mild weather.

And a reminder of the debt he owed from so many months ago.

 

 

********  
Chapter 2. Water Like a Stone  
********

The Winchesters arrived in the small hamlet of Copper Harbor as the sun was setting in a glorious glowing ball of fire, the whole western horizon’s blaze doubled in impact as it was mirrored across the vast expanse of Lake Superior. As per usual, their first task was a reconnaissance of the local bars and eating establishments to satisfy Dean’s twin most basic desires – food and drink (they counted as one, by the way), and flirting; and Sam’s one basic desire – the search for information. As it happened, Copper Harbor was small enough to satisfy all three Winchester needs in the one place – a warm and brightly lit wood-panelled building sporting a fresh hand painted sign that read Betty’s Bar & Grill. Underneath the new sign an older more worn wooden plaque was suspended by a pair of rusty chains, announcing “General stores, licquor, victuales, pool table, tv”. To which list someone slightly more literate had recently added “wireless internet”.

Dean parked the Impala in front of the Bar, a contented smile beginning to attach itself to his tired face. This looked like his sort of place, small and intimate and misspelt. And it had a pool table. Things were looking up. Some badass monster to gank out there in the woods, some gullible local schmucks to beat at pool, what more could Dean Winchester want? His mood was further enhanced when he and Sam pushed through the creaking front door to find with satisfaction that the promise of the exterior was more than met by the ambience inside. The general stores area was off to the right, an old fashioned jumble of shelves, racks and baskets crammed to the gills with all manner of useful stuff, from string to fishing gear, sugar and flour to bowie knives and porn magazines. The centre of the room was dominated by a large stone built chimney with an open hearth hosting a roaring wood fire that blasted the boys with a welcome heat after the wintery chill outside. To their left was a well stocked bar, which was (and this was definitely the icing on Dean’s cake) manned by a very attractive, curvy brunette barkeep. 

Yup. This really was his kind of town.

Sam headed for a table near the back of the room, in a dimly lit corner where the two hunters could sit with their backs to a wall, and have an unimpeded view of the whole place, while being practically invisible themselves. He’d taught the kid well. Dean let his sense of satisfaction grow as he took the tangential route to the bar and attractive barkeep, who greeted him with a beaming smile. As Dean ordered a couple of beers and chatted about what was on offer in all manner of ways, he appraised Betty (if it was indeed the eponymous owner, and it was top of Dean’s list to confirm that fact as soon as his stomach’s needs were taken care of) with an appreciative eye. She was probably about thirty-something, had curves in all the right places. Don’t get him wrong. Dean liked women in all shapes and sizes, but he was a man who really loved something to get hold off, and Betty had it in spades. In fact, he noted fleetingly, she was almost perfect, as if someone had rifled the drawers in the depths of his mind and extracted all the essential elements that made up his ideal woman – not too short or too tall, ample breasts, trim waist flaring out into what looked to be (if she’d just turn round for a second, just like that, oh yeah) the most gorgeous curvy ass he’d seen in a long time. She was no supermodel (thank God!), but had a smile that lit up her whole being. Dean basked in her warmth and humour as he deployed his own devastatingly effective weapons of mass seduction, fluttering those lush lashes and switching on the full wattage of his full-lipped smile to see if Betty would melt. It seemed like it was working, and he hardly noticed how badly he was being melted in return. 

When he joined Sam in their dimly lit corner of choice he was buzzing with an inner contentment the like of which he hadn’t felt for – he didn’t actually know how long – but longer than he could remember anyway. He flung himself into the spare chair with childish enthusiasm, knocking into the table and forcing Sam to make a grab for his laptop before it toppled to the floor.

“Hey Sammy,” leaning conspiratorially across to ruffle his aggrieved brother’s untidy mop of hair, “I am so in with buxom Betty there! We need to track this SOB down and get this over with, then you and I can have that R&R you were so keen on.”

Sam stared at him incredulously, then deployed his best little brother look of disgust (as usual with minimal effect).

“Dean, sitting around a one horse town in a motel room, while you bonk the local bar owner is not my idea of R&R, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, bro’…” Dean was distracted by a wink from Betty, only paying half a mind to Sam’s objections. “Maybe she’s got a sister or a cousin or something…”

Watching as Betty reached up to pull down a whiskey bottle from the top shelf, Dean missed Sam’s second perfect bitch-face. Pity really, it was a classic.

******

Several helpings of what even Sam had to admit was the most delicious apple pie ever, the Winchesters reluctantly left the warm embrace of Betty’s Bar to venture out into the November night. Dean couldn’t resist blowing the beauteous Betty a kiss as he closed the door behind him, by way of a promise for when the job was done. He grinned at the contortions Sam’s eyebrows performed as a result of this parting shot, and revved the Impala’s engine in response. His favourite girl’s deep throaty roar filled the still night air (no wonder he didn’t really dig feeble stick insect chicks, with the powerful Metallicar setting the bar so high) as they headed back up the main drag in search of the Motel sign they’d passed on the way in.

The minute Dean had seen the name he’d been insistent that they stay there – anywhere called Lake Fanny Hooe had to be seen to be believed, and this Motel was apparently on the banks of this wonderfully named body of water. Besides, there had also been the promise on the billboard of saunas and hot tubs, and the promise of a luxury that the two hunters rarely indulged in. Although Dean had originally shot down in flames Sam’s request for a break, he was mindful that they had both been running on little more than fumes lately. A little indulgence in between hiking through the damned great outdoors to find the latest monster wouldn’t do any harm. 

“Beats camping, Sammy boy!” He declared as he threw first his duffel then himself onto the bed nearest the door, with an accompanying protesting jangle from the tortured bed-springs. Filled with a warm fuzziness as a result of Betty’s smouldering glances and a bellyful of her wonderful pie, Dean slept like a proverbial log for the first time in ages.

******

Sam was bemused. He thought he was used to Dean’s mercurial mood swings, but this was such a turnaround, he was left feeling a bit breathless. Not that he wasn’t pleased to see something of the old Dean back. He’d missed the joie-de-vivre of Dean - pre-Apocalypse, pre-Hell, pre-Sam dying. That thought on its own gave him pause - how sad to think it was so long since he’d seen Dean in what seemed to be such a genuinely playful frame of mind. There was a gold and green glint back in his big brother’s eye, and suddenly he looked not just four but ten years younger. Suddenly wary, Sam carefully checked his underwear before getting dressed. He remembered what that glint used to mean, and it often turned out to be quite painful for little Sammy. He survived dressing without incident, but decided to stay alert for any shenanigans as the day progressed. He knew from experience that it didn’t do to turn your back on a playful Dean Winchester.

Fortified by a massive breakfast, the brothers packed up the car and drove down to the trail where the three hikers had all temporarily disappeared, only to turn up stone cold dead a few days later. Ironically, the trail led to a place called Hunter’s Point, a fact that Dean seemed to find inordinately funny. “Fancy them naming it after us, eh, Sammy?” He giggled. Sam couldn’t really see why it was so amusing, but it was great to see Dean so happy, so he laughed along with him anyway.

Sam had checked the local weather forecast before they’d left their room – mild and cloudy with a 70% chance of rain - and so he was very surprised when the first freezing wisps of fog started rising around them, sending pale tendrils round the craggy boles of the dense white pines. The temperature dropped rapidly, and in a matter of seconds, he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Icy droplets of water formed on his shaggy fringe, dripping annoyingly into his eyes. As he wiped the rivulets of water from his face, with a sudden shock he realised he’d somehow lost sight of his brother. The fog was deadening all sound, wrapping itself around him like a cold smothering blanket, and all he could hear was the sound of his own heart, thundering as if it was all the horses in the Kentucky Derby. 

His heart took a leap as it cleared an unexpected fence or two, and he yelled out “Dean!”

He took a step backward and bumped into something rock solid. He thought it must have been a tree as it didn’t give an inch, then as he turned, he realised this apparently solid pillar was no white pine. Dean was standing stock still, eyes wide, staring over Sam’s shoulder with a look of shock mingled with something Sam couldn’t quite place – anticipation, maybe? He quickly looked over his shoulder, where Dean’s stare seemed to be fixed and thought he caught the briefest glimpse of a coalescence of denser whiteness in the gauze of mist that surrounded them. Then it was gone as if it had never been. He turned back to meet his brother’s blank gaze and grasped both of Dean’s arms, gave him a shake.

“Dean! Dean, you with me?” Nothing. 

Sam, desperate, let go of his brother’s arms and lifted his hand to slap Dean’s face. Instantly Dean’s lightning quick reactions kicked in and before Sam’s open palm came within an inch of his brother’s pale stubbled cheek, Dean’s hand had snatched hold of his wrist in a cripplingly strong grip.  
With an agonizing slowness, Dean’s dark eyes seemed to regain their focus, fixed onto Sam instead of the white nothingness behind him.

“Sam.” He said, his voice as blank as his eyes. Then with a bit more animation, “Sammy.”

 

Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Yes, it’s me. Can I have my hand back now?” Dean looked blankly at Sam’s hand in his and flushed a little, embarrassed. He let go as quickly as if he’d been burnt, and had the circumstances been different Sam would have laughed. As it was, he just rubbed the red marks on his wrist automatically, not really feeling anything but worry.

“So what was it? What did you see?”

“Uh?” Still bemused, slightly not-there.

“In the mist, Dean, what was it?”

He waited impatiently as Dean clearly thought about lying to him. Sam could read him like a book.

His brother looked away, then down at his boots and mumbled a name at the mud spattered tan leather. Absently Dean’s hand strayed to his chest and rubbed at the ribs over his heart as if he was feeling a pain there. It reminded Sam disturbingly of how Dean had acquired that same habitual gesture in the days following his electrocution hunting the rawhead all those years ago. 

When he had been dying.

“What was that? What did you say?”

Finally haunted hazel eyes met angry hazel eyes with the honesty Sam was silently demanding.

“I said it was Yuki Onna, Sammy. She’s come to collect her debt.”

 

********  
Chapter 3. Frosty Wind made Moan  
********

 

Sam looked around wildly, but there was nothing to be seen but mist and the shadows of the trees. 

The Yuki-onna. Shit. He didn’t hesitate any longer. 

“We gotta get you out of here!” 

“Yes….. No…. I….”

He grabbed the stuttering Dean by the arm and literally dragged his suddenly uncharacteristically hesitant big brother back towards the trail. The freezing fog was dissipating almost as quickly as it had formed, which just confirmed Dean’s assessment that the Japanese demon-spirit of winter was at the root of all this. Sam was cursing vehemently under his breath. How could he have been so blind to the signs? Now he could see how everything he’d dug up pointed to the work of the Snow Maiden, yet neither he nor Dean had managed to join up the dots. His brother in particular should have been preternaturally tuned into any manifestation of the Japanese Yõkai after their previous encounter, yet somehow, even Dean had missed it. Was the creature so powerful she could influence their decisions and so thoroughly confuse them even from a distance?

That was a really disturbing thought, and Sam found himself driven to pull Dean faster and faster through the dense pine forest, until he had the two of them running at full pelt when they finally reached the more open spaces around the Hunter’s Point trail. They emerged from the dim forest into a dull cloudy daylight, and Sam was further relieved to note that not only had the temperatures risen to a more moderate level of chill, but the weather generally was now being played out as predicted, with the advent of a soft drizzly rain that threatened to quickly saturate them. It seemed that Yuki-onna’s wintery influence had faded along with her supernatural frozen mist.

Both Winchesters were breathing heavily as they slowed down. As one they turned and looked back at the forest when they reached the Impala. Dean leaned on the shining wet roof of his baby, and Sam saw with a vague sense of loss that the older Winchester’s weary post-apocalyptic expression was firmly back in place. Dean frowned slightly, and Sam would see the effort it took him to muster his game face.

“So why were we running, Sam? You could have let me have a go at ganking the bitch.”

Sam just stared at him, unconvinced by the feeble attempt at bravado.

“Oh yeah, right. You weren’t exactly looking like you were ready to spring into deadly action there, bro’.” He carried on quickly before Dean could register a protest, “Besides, she was gone the moment I found you. No time to do anything about it.”

“Um, okay, okay. Whatever, dude.” Dean ducked his head and opened the car door, slowly sliding into the driver’s seat. Shotgun-side, Sam echoed his brother, sliding in beside him and they drove in virtual silence back to town. 

“You’re very quiet – you alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, fine – just thinking…. You know, back in Chicago, afterwards, I couldn’t find a single bit of lore about how to kill a Yuki-onna?”

Sam nodded. “I know. Me neither. Oh, and I think there is only one.”

“Only one what?”

“One Yuki-onna, she’s singular, I think. The Yuki-onna, Snow Woman, whatever. Not ‘a’ Yuki-onna.”

“Oh.” Silence.

“Does that help us kill her and get me out of this mess then?” 

Another silence, belonging to Sam this time. He sighed.

“No, Dean. It doesn’t help us at all.”

Suddenly animated, Dean thumped his fist into the steering wheel in frustration, making Sam jump. “Son of a bitch!”

They reached the intersection with the highway and instead of heading back to the Lakeside Motel, Dean pointed the Impala’s sleek black and chrome nose into town. Sam was about to ask what he was doing, but his big brother anticipated the query without ever taking his eyes off the road. On these occasions he couldn’t work out whether Dean had a sixth sense, or just very good peripheral vision and was reading Sam’s body language.

“’M hungry.” The older Winchester growled. “I need pie.”

Sam said nothing. He knew from Dean’s tone there was no point in suggesting any other course of action, he would have to try more subtle means to get his stubborn, close mouthed brother to discuss their next steps. He could feel the tension emanating from Dean in waves and wondered what exactly he thought his debt to Yuki-onna’s consisted of. It wasn’t unheard of for his obstinate brother to have not shared every detail he should have when he’d told Sam what had happened with the Yõkai all those months ago. Particularly if he had thought he was protecting Sam in keeping him in the dark. As they pulled into a parking space outside Betty’s Bar, Sam pondered. 

Just what is going on in that angsty little noggin of yours, bro’?

********

“When all this is over, I will return for payment. You will give me whatever I ask in return for this favour, my pretty boy….”

Yes. Yes, I guess I will. I owe you.  
You owe me your fire, Dean Winchester.

Dean replayed the Yuki-onna’s last words to him over and over in his head. Just what the hell did that mean? His fire? What the fuck? The thing was, he felt obligated to the damn thing. There was no denying she had saved his life, and more importantly, in doing so had saved Sam from Lucifer at the same time. Stopped him being served up on a chilled plate to Michael and prevented Sammy saying Yes to the Devil to save his dumbass big brother. A double whammy, and he had been genuinely grateful at the time. Grateful to a demon-succubus-spirit-goddess or whatever this strange eastern creature was. What she was doing here in America, God only knew (if He could be bothered to pay attention to anything that was going on in his Creation, and Dean’s Judge and Jury were still out on that particular issue). Whatever, it seemed she wanted Dean to come up with the ante now and he had no idea how to stop her doing as she had promised (and he and tacitly agreed to) and taking whatever she wanted from him. Taking his fire.

He rather guessed he might miss this fire thing, felt it was all too likely something that was keeping him alive and breathing. Something essential.

He was right.

Betty’s Bar & Grill was as warm and welcoming as yesterday, and Dean felt himself relax just a fraction as the buxom Betty caught his eye and winked at him when the Winchesters came through the door. The boys took the same table where they’d staked their claim the previous evening, and Dean headed for the bar to order, the same as before. Outside the sun had already set and the winter evening was drawing in. Neither Winchester noticed that as they sat down with their beers, over the dark purple rocks and pebble beaches of Copper Harbour it had started to snow. 

Sam didn’t immediately get out his precious laptop, and Dean could see from the set of those remarkable broad shoulders that his little brother would soon be deploying his best interrogative procedures to find out what Dean was thinking. Sighing inwardly, Dean steeled himself to resist the virtually irresistible - the emo puppy-dog eyes of Samuel Winchester. The trouble was, he really didn’t know what going on in his own head, so articulating anything coherent enough to satisfy Sam was going to be nearly impossible.

Then there was the admittedly very pleasant distraction being provided by the very attractive Betty, who was showing every sign of being extremely interested in making a much closer acquaintance with him, and it had been a while – hell, more than a while – since he’d….

He snapped out of his reverie as Sam replaced the killer puppy eyes with a truly stupendous bitch-face. Really, it was so good, Dean almost spontaneously applauded. Instead he rewarded the kid with a patented Dean-cheesy grin, which seemed to do the trick, as Sam relaxed a little.

Their discussions about how to tackle the Yuki-onna were pretty fruitless, basically none of the stories had anything useful about how she could be fought off. Anyone who had survived seemed to have done so solely because she had decided to let them off the hook, not because the hero of the tale had managed to come up with any ingenious escape trick. It really wasn’t looking too hopeful for Dean, and he could see that Sam’s next recommendation was likely to involve cutting their losses and running, which Dean knew just wasn’t an option. If he bailed, Yuki would just keep killing innocent people until he was forced to return – that was after all how she had drawn them there in the first place. There was no way Dean could allow that to happen – his job was saving folk, not running away from the first scent of danger and abandoning his post. Before Sam could make the proposal that he was going to have to shoot down in flames, Dean jumped to his feet with an offer of getting more beers in. Sam opened his mouth to decline but Dean was gone, smirking to himself at the speed of his reflexes. Foxed the boy again, he thought as he leaned on the slightly sticky bar and chatted to bouncy brown-haired Betty while she pulled their pints and slipped him a complimentary whisky chaser on the side.

“You boys staying in town for a while?”

“Guess so. We’ve got a bit of business that may take a while to finish, may have to hang around a few more days yet.”

He basked in her glowing smile, admiring her ample cleavage generously displayed by a plunging décolletage as she leaned towards him.

“That’s good, because I think I might have a bit of business I’d like to see through with you, if you are interested…” she drawled conspiratorially, her voice slightly husky.

He grinned. Interested? Yeah, I should say so….

He carelessly dumped Sam’s pint on the table, the amber liquid sloshing about precariously close to spilling and fished the car keys out of his pocket, dangling them in the young hunter’s face. 

“There you go Sammy boy, you get yourself back to Lake Fanny while I stay and finish my little chat with Betty here.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation, but took the Impala keys anyway. Dean could see what looked a distinctly indulgent gleam in his brother’s eye, which he stoically ignored.

“You can come back and pick me up in the morning – maybe we can have some pie for breakfast!”

“Yeah, ok Dean, but in the morning, we are going to discuss this Yõkai thing properly.”

“Sure, whatever you say, dude. Whatever you say.” But tonight, I’m gonna forget about all this freaky-ass demon shit and have me a good time for once.

 

********  
Chapter 4. Heaven and Earth shall Flee Away  
********

A trail of clothing led from door to bed. Dean’s battered leather jacket embraced Betty’s v-necked top; his check button-down snuggled up to her worn blue jeans, all discarded in haste on the deep pile carpet.

Dean happily flung himself backwards onto the rather bouncy mattress. Betty smiled at Dean as she knelt astride him looking very cute in bra and panties, and laughingly helped him shrug off his t shirt. 

“Do you like this body, Dean Winchester? I made it especially for you.”

“Like it?” he panted, “I love it…I…” His mouth juddered to a stop as his brain finally kicked in.

He stared, felt his jaw drop, then a flush rise in his cheeks. 

“Yuki.”

She nodded, the warm smile never wavering on Betty’s perfectly constructed, perfectly ordinary, perfectly lovely face.

“I can see what you desire, Dean. I can be whoever you want, whatever you want.”

She stroked a finger tenderly down his smooth naked chest and he shivered – fear mingling with a burning desire he couldn’t suppress, even knowing it was the Yõkai wearing that wonderfully attractive curvaceous form. Even knowing that he should be fighting this, or perhaps, if he were more sensible, running away. Instead he lay there, trembling, as she leaned down and brushed his lips with hers, and in spite of himself, he responded. This time was so different from Chicago. This time the Yuki-onna’s breath was Betty’s too, and it was warm and moist, not freezing cold. His lips parted and he let her tongue slide between his teeth, tasting him, testing him. Then he couldn’t have moved even if he had wanted to, and he knew she was in his head, rummaging around in all the deepest, darkest places in his mind, extracting what she needed to keep him there. The most frightening thing was - he didn’t care.

Because wherever Yuki went, although at first he felt the most exquisite agony, it was immediately followed by a blessed numbness. Slowly but surely, wherever she touched his mind she was freezing all his pain. She found his memories of Dad; the ever-present fear of failing him, the silent rage at the days and nights of neglect; the sadness at the loss of his childhood; and she stole away all the heat from them. She found the memory of seeing his mother in the house in Lawrence, burning, pinned to the ceiling, and stole away the flames. 

Dean’s hazel eyes were wide open, staring blindly, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. They glowed green, then gold in the lamplight as his back arched, sweat trickled down his chest and soaked into the crisp white cotton sheets and he whimpered from the terrible pain. Moaned from the glorious relief as she seared then cauterised with ice, seared then cauterised. He was conscious but unaware, lost in Yuki-onna’s kiss.

And all the while, inside his head, she talked to him, gently, lovingly.

I know you, Dean Winchester.

Yes.

I love your fire.

Love.

You want this. You want the pain to stop.

Yes. Yes. Please.  
Aaaaaah….stop. Don’t. Stop.

If I let you do this – the killing will stop? The people here will be safe?

Yes. I don’t need any more deaths. I have you, Dean Winchester.

And Sam will be safe?

Yes. You need to send your brother away. He has too much fire in him – I might be tempted to stray.

No. Sam. Sammy!

Send him away.

Yes.

One by one she found them. The crippling, painful emotions. The lovings, the affections, the bitter-sweet passions of Dean Winchester’s tapestry. Tessa. Anna. Lisa and Ben. Jo and Ellen. Castiel. Bobby. Yuki-onna sucked out all the heat and all the fervour. With each frozen thread of love and pain, Dean was unravelling.

Then she reached the big one. Sam. She paused.

Stop. Don’t. Stop.  
Dean’s eyes had closed, squeezed tight shut. He opened them. Betty/Yuki was staring down at him, her borrowed features solemn, eyes dark wells in which he could lose – he was losing -himself.

“This will hurt.” She said.

Like it hadn’t hurt up to now? He thought, dazed, incredulous.

“Do you want this?”

I want the pain to stop.  
“Yes.” He said.

He didn’t move, couldn’t move, even though his wide-open eyes saw that in each hand Yuki held a slim, deadly, crystalline spike of clear ice that sparkled in the lamplight. Slowly she brought the tip of one of these icicles and touched its sharp point to his right eye. He didn’t blink.

The other she placed carefully between the fifth and sixth ribs, poised ready over his erratically beating heart.

Stop. Don’t. Stop.  
He gasped as she plunged both icy weapons home simultaneously. She was right. It hurt like fuck.

The pain of the last few moments (hoursminutesdays – he had no idea) paled into insignificance as agony worse than anything he’d ever felt raced along every fibre of his being. His brother was woven so tightly into the fabric of Dean, this was tearing him apart. Blood ran hot from his eye, mingling with the tears; ran hot from his still pumping heart, drenching the bed beneath him.

This was worse than Hell. 

He thought his screaming would never stop. Don’t. Stop.

******

It was late morning when he was awoken by the touch of bright sunlight caressing his eyelids. His lashes were dark against his pale skin, they fluttered nervously as if afraid to open, then bravely, a new Dean faced the day.

He wiped his hand over his face, found it still wet with – what was it? Blood? He had a vague memory of bleeding, and his eye….but his hand when he looked at the palm was merely smeared with water. He looked at it, uncomprehending, puzzled. Felt the bed beneath him as he sat up. It was dry. Again, he had a memory of blood soaking the sheets, but there was nothing.

Must have been a dream.

He remembered other things from the night before that made him smile. Man, that Betty was hot. He wandered out of Betty’s boudoir in search of the bathroom. Time for a shower and some of that fantastic pie for breakfast. In Betty’s bathroom, he examined himself in the mirror as he shaved with one of her lady-razors. Yesterday, Dean would have been making a mental note of the ribbing Sam would have given him for that. But he wasn’t Yesterday’s Dean. 

Not any more.

Yesterday’s Dean would have recognised today’s Dean. He would have found a chilling familiarity in the flinty hardness in the darkened hazel eyes, the subtle rigidity of his stance, the tighter line of those full lips. Because this Dean bore an uncanny and disturbing resemblance to the Dean of 2014 shown him by Zachariah all those months ago, there in that worst of possible futures where Future Dean had been five long years fighting all alone and Sam had said Yes to Lucifer in Detroit. A Dean with nearly all his humanity seared out of him; compassionless, stony and – ultimately – lost.

A Dean without Sam.  
A Dean without fire.  
This could only end in tears; and they wouldn’t be his. This Dean had forgotten how to cry.

 

********  
Chapter 5. Water Like a Stone  
********

Outside was brighter than it should have been at eleven o’clock on a moonless night in late November. The glow came from reflected starlight on the snow that already lay in a thick blanket of purest white across the parking lot and draped itself elegantly over the black Impala, keeping her warm in Dean’s absence. Thick flakes were drifting down and Sam’s hair and shoulders were covered by the time he had reached the car door. The small town was silent, the snow muffling everything, and there were no other tire tracks on the roads as Sam powered up the Impala’s big throaty engine and slapped her into drive. No one else stupid enough to be out and about on a night like this, he thought.

He nursed the classic Chevy with great care on the few miles to their lakeside Motel. The snow was now coming down in a veritable blizzard and he knew his life wouldn’t be worth living if he damaged Dean’s precious baby by sliding her into a ditch or a snow drift. This sudden change in the weather again was very worrying, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to the motel room to take the opportunity to concentrating on his research, uninterrupted by his annoying brother’s restless impatience. 

He was glad Dean had found a little diversion that really ought to guarantee his big brother a good night’s sleep for once. He was only too well aware that Dean still suffered from nightmares nearly every night. Sam knew this for a fact, because all too often he lay awake following unpleasant dreams of his own, listening to Dean tossing, turning and occasionally whimpering softly in pain. Sometimes, most distressingly, Dean would weep. When that happened, Sam would try to make a noise to wake him and pull him out of it, while pretending to be still sound asleep himself to avoid the embarrassment and any damage to Dean’s delicately maintained macho front.

Post traumatic stress syndrome in spades, Sam supposed, and no wonder. It was probably a toss up as to which of the two surviving Winchesters could come up with the most interesting (in the Chinese sense of the word) nightmares but Sam guessed Dean could most likely trump his own slimy Lucifer/burning Jess/dying Dean with any single image from his time in Hell, let alone anything that had happened since his return from the pit. Not that it was a competition of course.

Safely ensconced in the unusually luxuriously appointed motel room, Sam wasted no time in getting out his laptop and recommencing his searches for anything - a clue, a hint, the faintest whisper of something that would help them defeat the Yuki-onna. Three hours later, Sam’s eyes were burning and he had read the same paragraph on some poorly translated Japanese website more times than he could count, and still had no idea what it was talking about. He looked over at the empty beds and conceded defeat. Although Dean was a pain with his constant interruptions and bad jokes, Sam actually found that he often came up with the one key fact that was the most significant help to them when his brother was there to bounce ideas off. Without him, it just wasn’t the same.

Sam sighed heavily and decided to call it a night. He would just have to come at it fresh in the morning, after he’d picked up Dean from his night of debauchery with his buxom Betty. That at least gave him something to smile about as he hit the sack, and for once, Sam Winchester slept a deep and dreamless sleep.

******

Snow was piled in a knee deep drift against the door of the Motel room when Sam finally woke up late in the morning, and it took a bit of effort to push his way out. Fortunately, the Keweenaw Peninsular communities were well used to lots of snow in the winter, thanks to Lake Superior’s wonderful micro-climate, and he saw with relief that the snow ploughs had been busy in the night. The road out of the Lake Fanny Hooe resort looked reasonably clear. Over breakfast, he listened to the gossip as tourists gabbled excitedly about the cross-country skiing opportunities they would be able to take advantage of now the normal expected snowing conditions had finally arrived. He took a moment to wonder whether they would be safe from the Yuki-onna, but he rather thought that her interests would be elsewhere now. It seemed highly likely that she had already got what she wanted out of the three deaths that had brought the brothers to this spot – Dean Winchester’s attention.

Perhaps they could use that to their advantage, if they could only find out a way to kill the Yõkai… He looked at his watch and winced. Dean would be climbing the walls by now, he had slept so late. And he really needed to talk to his brother. Stat.

******

Sam almost expected to find Dean pacing a deep trench in Betty’s parking lot when he arrived and was therefore surprised when there was no sign of the older Winchester. He silenced the Impala’s deep roar and made his way inside the bar. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust from the snow-glare outside to the dim firelight interior, a few more seconds to hone in on the fact that the place was empty of customers and that for some reason, Dean was behind the bar instead of propping it up. There was no sign of Betty.

As Sam approached the bar Dean came out to meet him, a bottle of Jack hanging loosely from his hand. Just for a moment, something about the set of his brother’s shoulders made Sam tense. Something unfamiliar. Something wrong. Dean always moved with a kind of predatory grace, but this was different, more perilous. As his brother moved through the light of one of the small windows, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean’s face and almost took an involuntary step back. He had to take another closer look as Dean halted in front of him to reassure himself that Dean’s eyes were still clear and green, not black, because for that instant in the low sunlight, the look on his big brother’s face had been so cold and inhuman Sam would not have been surprised to find him possessed. Inwardly shaking his head at his ridiculous jumpiness, Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and made to drag him over to ‘their’ table, talking urgently as they moved.

“Dean, you know the Yuki-onna is here, you’ve seen the winter weather she’s brought with her too - well I’m thinking maybe we can trap her, using you as bait.” He juddered to a halt as his brother dug his heels in and stopped them both dead in their tracks. He turned to look at his brother in puzzlement and found that that cold hard expression was back on Dean’s face. The older Winchester casually flipped the top off the bottle, took a long swig, his eyes dark never leaving Sam’s. This time Sam did take that step backwards.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” Sam asked, his voice almost as cold as Dean’s face. Big brother’s only response was a quirk of an eyebrow. Dean seemed to be waiting for something more from Sam, and when the younger man stayed silent, he just shrugged slightly.

“So you want to use me as bait for this monster then, Sammy boy. Nice. Real nice.” 

Sam didn’t like the sneering expression that came over his brother’s face at these words, tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound defensive.  
“Dean, I…” Dean held up a hand, made a cutting off gesture, took another swig from the whiskey bottle.

“No, please Sam, don’t bother to explain how you came up with such a super plan. I don’t suppose you’ve actually found a way of killing this Yõkai creature? No? Thought not. So using me as bait would gain us what exactly – oh, that’s right – my head on a Japanese demon-whore’s plate.”

“Well, I haven’t heard you coming up with any better ideas, genius. Or were you thinking we should just bail now we know she’s after you and not bothered about all the little ordinary people she’s been freezing to death out there?”

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? We run away and then she’d just keep killing until I was forced to come back and gank her by myself.”

Sam was starting to get angry. What was the matter with his crazy brother? Why was he behaving like such a complete dick? Oh yes, that was how Dean usually behaved, had he forgotten?

Over Dean’s shoulder, Sam saw Betty slipping silently behind the bar, brown curls ruffled, a faint smile on her pleasant face. She caught his eye, and waved as if she hadn’t heard a word of their heated discussion. Distracted, Sam found Dean had stepped right into his personal space, was waving the liquor bottle in his face.

“Well, I’m staying here anyway, Yuki-onna or no Yuki-onna, and I think you,” punctuated with another wave of the bottle, “You should take my car and get out of here, go make yourself a life like you always wanted to do. No point in hanging round here, I can take care of myself.”

Sam was finding it hard to think rationally against the slow burning rage that was steadily building inside him. He grabbed at the offending bottle, yanked it out of Dean’s hand and flung it away. Whiskey sprayed out as the bottle smashed against the stone fireplace. He barely noticed.

“What is wrong with you, Dean?’ He yelled, then staggered back as Dean shoved him with both hands.

“Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You know how I hold you back, Sammy, I’m just giving you the chance to get away, cut loose.” 

He shoved Sam again, pushing him inexorably towards the door. Sam was breathing heavily, trying to think straight but it was almost as if the fumes from the spilled whiskey were making him drunk, and the feelings of anger were overwhelming. When Dean gave him one last shove that sent him staggering into the doorway, Sam cracked and took a massive swing at his brother, wanting nothing more at that moment than to smash the smug expression off those handsome chiselled features. He connected and Dean flew backwards, crashing to the floor. When Dean rolled over and clambered to his feet, his brother was grinning even as the blood from his split lip trickled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, the mocking smile never wavering.

Sam just turned his back in disgust and stormed out to the Impala, flung himself behind the wheel and hit the road out of town. Rage coursing through him, he didn’t think about going back to the Lakeside Motel but instead headed for Highway 41 and anywhere away from Betty’s Bar & Grill and Dean. As he put more miles between himself and the coast, he found the anger gradually subsiding and after a few more minutes driving, he finally started to become aware of his surroundings. That was when he noticed that the snow was thinning along with his rage the farther he got from Copper Harbour. About fourteen miles down the highway Sam reached a line where the snow stopped entirely. He pulled over, stopped the Impala on the snow-free side and got out of the car. From roughly north to south across the highway stretched a clear defined boundary between bare earth and snow-cover, as far as he could see. 

Now that couldn’t be natural.

********

Back at Betty’s Dean still leaned against the wide open door, idly staring at the dark tracks left by the Impala in the snow, unaware that his right hand was unconsciously pressing its warmth over the wound left by Yuki-onna’s icy dagger. 

He turned his head as Betty called him back inside, and the smile that lit his face this time was genuine.

Whay hay brown Betty, bam ballam….

 

********  
Chapter 6: Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart

********

Sam tilted his head back to let the cool breeze run over his face, ruffling his shaggy hair and finally clearing his head. He rubbed at his sore knuckles, grimacing as he remembered the burning desire to smash Dean’s face in. It was like the siren all over again. That damn Yõkai must have been in his head, and evidently, she had already got her chilly claws into Dean, as Sam was sure he hadn’t imagined his brother’s cold-as-stone attitude. Besides, if he needed any more proof, Dean had given Sam the Impala, told him to go away for good. There was no way Dean in his right mind would have done that.

What an idiot I’ve been. Thinking of idiots reminded Sam of another essential thing he’d and Dean had completely forgotten to do, and that was consult their Japanese mythology expert, Bobby Singer. Our brains must have been really thoroughly addled by that Yuki-onna, he thought as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and swiftly dialled their surrogate father’s number. He found himself blushing with embarrassment as he filled their old mentor in on everything that had happened, trying to skate as quickly as possible over the details of the Yõkai-influenced fight in the bar.

“Ok son, so we’ve skip over the part where I tell you what you already know – that you should have rung me earlier and you’ve both been acting like idjits – and get onto the part that might help us get your brother back. One thing I found out about the Yuki-onna since last time we met her, she's an Obake Yõkai. That means she can change her shape, so she won’t always appear as that beautiful Japanese woman you saw in Chicago, or in the woods here.”

Sam clapped a hand to his forehead. “So, can she take any shape, look like anyone she wants to?”

“Yup, that’s right.”

“Shit, Bobby, I think Dean’s latest squeeze, Betty – I think she’s the Yuki-onna!”

No wonder her influence had been so strong on both men, she had been in the same room as them at the time. It also explained the drastic change in Dean overnight. Sam’s heart twisted uncomfortably as he wondered what exactly the Yõkai had done to his brother, and what her purpose was now. Why was she keeping him alive? One thing was clear, Sam had to return to Copper Harbour, and quickly.

“Listen Sam, I did a lot of research last time we met this creature, and none of us found any way to defeat her. All the stories point to her letting go of her victims of her own accord, not being forced to do anything. So you need to be very careful.”

Sam was nodding, barely listening as he climbed back into the patiently waiting Impala. Careful, of course he’d be careful, Dean’s life was at stake. He heard without taking it in Bobby’s parting remark about a parallel he had just thought of that might be of help to them, something about Hans Christian Anderson. As he hung up, Sam had a moment of puzzlement over that anomalous fairy tale reference, then dismissed it. 

He must have misheard.

********  
Sam parked the Impala in Betty’s lot again, and entered the bar for the second time that morning still undecided on the best course of action. Both Dean and Betty (Yuki?) were behind the bar and then Dean came out to meet him, a look of surprise on his face.

Sam leapt in before his brother or Betty/Yuki could speak.

“Dean, please listen to me. You have been bewitched. Betty isn’t Betty, she’s the Yuki-onna.”

He was taken aback when his big brother just laughed. “Oh Betty is Betty alright, believe me. But have a gold star for finally figuring out that she’s my Yuki too, bro’. Well done, geek-boy!”

“You…you knew?”

“Yeah, bro’, I knew.” 

For a brief second, Sam thought he saw something dark and pained pass over the older Winchester’s face, then it was gone. 

“So if you knew, why did you let her near you? Dean, please tell me you didn’t think giving yourself would save me from her?”

That look was there again, this time there was no mistaking it, and Dean’s hand seemed to move of its own volition to rub at his chest, directly over his heart. Feeling encouraged, Sam pressed on.

Yuki-onna could see her man was weakening, faced by his brother for a second time. This was not going as she had planned. Why had the younger man come back? She looked from one Winchester to the other, both perplexed and vexed. She could see how the ice that bound Dean to her was starting to melt; a thin trail of blood was trickling from the older man’s right eye, and a dark patch was blossoming on his check shirt, over his heart. She saw Sam Winchester’s eyes widen as he noticed his brother was bleeding. She frowned as Sam took another tentative step towards Dean.

“Dean! Your eye – you’re bleeding…”

Dean absently put a hand to his face and wiped his aching eye, smearing red across his pallid cheek. He shook his head. It was immaterial, a distraction. What mattered was getting Sam to understand why staying here was important to him, and why Sam needed to get away from here. Somewhere safe. Somewhere normal.

Dean took a step closer to Sam.

Yuki-onna watched the brothers, mystified and frustrated. She could see how the polarisation she had created was slowly but surely being reversed. Where she had created a Dean that was (at the very least) indifferent if not repelled by Sam, now the two brothers were somehow reorientating themselves, like magnets moving so that their fields of attraction faced each other. She could see their invisible bonds irresistibly reinstating themselves, bit by bit. If she didn’t act, and act quickly, all her work would be undone, and she would lose the older brother forever. Betty/Yuki moved silent as a ghost to position herself behind Sam Winchester’s big bulk. She thought she knew what the solution was, and in her hand appeared a spear of ice, beautiful and deadly.

Dean was starting to feel hot and confused. His head felt fuzzy, and his thoughts were all jumbled; he just didn’t seem to be able to recapture the clarity, the certainty he had been feeling a few moments before. And dammit, Sam was right, he was bleeding – his eye and his chest ached and he couldn’t understand why. His legs trembled slightly as he took another step forward. What the fuck was going on?

That was when he saw Yuki moving behind Sam, saw the sunlight glint on the ice in her hand and suddenly fear stabbed through his chest, setting him on fire. He knew exactly what she was going to do, and that he was too many strides away from Sam to stop her. It was Cold Oak all over again and he couldn’t bear it.

“Sam look out!” he yelled as he flung himself forwards towards his brother. 

Unlike in Cold Oak it was daylight, there was no comforting night-time darkness to shield him from the sight of Sam’s shocked face as his kid brother felt the icy blade pierce deep into his back. Dean reached Sam and caught his giant little brother as those long legs crumpled underneath him, went down with Sam heavily onto his knees as the big man slumped forward into his arms, just like last time. Exactly like last time. 

No no no no no. Not again. This couldn’t happen again.

Neither of the brothers noticed Yuki-onna standing watching them, in her own shape again, Betty’s form being lost to her in the moment she had finally lost Dean Winchester. Blood, Sam’s blood, dripped dark from the sharp point of the icicle that was still grasped in one slim white hand. Dripped and stained the pure white of her silk kimono, a stain a red as her carmine lips. It appeared that she had miscalculated. It seemed that the action she had thought would bind her man to her forever had been the one action guaranteed to reawaken all the passion she thought she had stolen from him. Strange. She touched a fingertip to Sam’s blood, tasted it, still so warm it was steaming slightly in the icy air. Perhaps she should have taken this one instead. The younger man had equal passion, could have given her much satisfaction…but as she absorbed his blood on her tongue she recognised an element that was familiar to her, told her that he was in some way kin. Yuki-onna sighed faintly with disappointment as she faded away into the cold swirling mist of her own breath.

Dean was oblivious, lost in a world of nightmares coming true. Sam’s head was heavy on his shoulder, his kid brother’s breathing (he was still breathing thank God) whispered faintly in his ear; Sam’s blood ran hot and sticky over the hand Dean had pressed in desperation to the wound in his brother’s back. Tears were running unchecked and unnoticed down his cheeks, just as his own blood was gradually soaking the front of his shirt, unnoticed, irrelevant.

“Sammy, Sam it’s ok, I gottcha, it’s gonna be ok this time…” Oh God Oh God Oh God. “It’s not that bad, see…” He looked at the blood on his hand, waved it in front of Sam’s dazed eyes. “See, not so bad, I’ll get you patched up…” Please. Don’t die, please. Don’t.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was so faint, Dean could barely hear him. “’M sorry…”

“Shush, Sammy, it’s okay.”

“Sorry…hit you…didn’t mean it…”

“Me too, Sammy, me too…” 

Dean couldn’t help it. His voice cracked and he sobbed openly, great racking sobs that shook his whole body.

His heart ached so, he thought he would die of it. Not again. If he lost Sam now, there was nothing that could stop him dying too, not this time. No demons, no angels, no Michael, no Lucifer and no deals, so he could die properly this time. He would die properly this time and he would stay dead.

“No, Dean.” 

A deep gravelly voice he had thought he would never hear again. Dean looked up into solemn blue eyes that would have put a Mediterranean sea to shame and his own eyes widened with shock. Even as he opened his mouth to say Castiel, the long lost Winchester angel gently touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead and instantly, he and Sam were – elsewhere. Castiel bent down and murmured in Dean’s ear, and Dean dizzily thought that Cas smelt crazily good.

Weird. “It is not your time to die.” The angel paused, smiled. 

“Or Sam’s.”

Dean was distracted, distraught, but he still noticed that his angel looked different – less careworn, happier – younger even. He even had time to wonder where Cas had been, why he wasn’t chilling out with the all other surviving angels back in Heaven.

“Cas, man…it’s good to see you. We thought you were dead or absorbed back into that primordial angel soup…” Dean was gabbling and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Then Castiel was helping Dean stagger to his feet, still holding tightly onto Sam, and he felt something soft and warm that smelt of clean sheets and the home he barely remembered enfold them both. He knew that his angel had folded those dark invisible wings around them, was holding both injured humans up, as between them they managed to walk the younger Winchester through the sliding doors of the A&E.

 

********

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely based on the fairy tale of the Snow Queen, with the addition of the Japanese Yuki Onna or Yõkai. 
> 
> Copper Harbour and Delaware are real places that I have never been to, so probably bear no resemblance to my descriptions (all based on research on the wonderful interwebs)! Copper Harbour is at the top of Keewenaw, which juts out into Lake Superior. It is 14 miles north of the ghost town of Delaware.
> 
> This was one of my first fics and I think it ended rather abruptly - maybe I should have a look at that sometime!


End file.
